


the love you gave me - nothing else can save me

by nosecoffee



Category: Anne of Green Gables (TV 1985) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bad coping mechanisms, Canon Divergent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiatic Consent, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Grief, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Misunderstandings, Modern Era, Mourning, Romance, physical comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-02 21:51:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17271764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosecoffee/pseuds/nosecoffee
Summary: (SOS)*"Will you stay with me, tonight?” She whispers, eventually. Gilbert half pulls away, and she mourns the loss of the feeling of being cocooned in him. “Not like - I mean, I don't want to be alone.”His expression says he understands, but is surprised at her request. He knows just as well as she does that she knows her own mind. He won't refuse when she asks. He's reliable like that, always has been. Gilbert Blythe is really bad at telling peopleno,and Anne Shirley has always been privy to exploiting that fact.





	the love you gave me - nothing else can save me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from SOS by ABBA
> 
> Everything referenced as happening before the fic begins is pretty canon compliant up until Matthew's death, where I changed quite a bit of it, and then everything on from that has a few inklings of canon, but is all-in-all pretty canon divergent

Anne has never been speechless before, in her life. There's always been something to say, always a bit of poetry to quote, a smart remark to make, an offhanded whispered-under-her-breath insult to hurl.

She thinks she's crying. That would explain the way her skin tickles and tingles with a cool wetness, the way her eyes sting, and her throat sours. She thinks she dropped her phone, more than a minute ago. It's definitely on the floor, and she can't hear Marilla's voice through the receiver. It could be that she's finally broken it.

Anne sinks down the wall and onto the floor, hands held up either side of her head, the way she would when she was younger and would drop a piece of crockery. Like _don't touch me,_ like _I'm sorry,_ like _please stop yelling._

But no one is yelling. She's halfway towards reaching up to clutch at her head, but stopped. If anyone passed, they'd think she looked so strange.

She _knew_ this was a risk. She _knew_ this could happen. She took a chance in coming back to school, now. But they were _sure_ he'd pull through, the doctors had _assured_ them that he'd pull through.

Anne thinks maybe she wails or something, because suddenly Gilbert runs around the corner with searching eyes, and sees her, on the floor, crying.

Hadn't she seen him, just this morning, as they walked into class? Yes, she remembers, quite clearly.

(He had frowned and said, “What are you doing here? I thought you were at the hospital with Marilla?”

And Anne had shook her head and laughed, replying, “I’m working through it, Gilbert Blythe. It's the only thing I can do.”)

"Anne," he says, like he's frightened for her life. Like _she's_ the one who died. "Anne, what's wrong?"

And Anne can't choke out a single word. Her throat has closed up, her whole body paralysed. The only thing she can do is cry and stare into space.

His warm hand touches her cheek, his eyes searching hers like he's expecting to find an answer in their depths. _"Anne,"_ Gilbert says with the same conviction, but softer.

He wants her to say something, but there's not a damn word, no fucking language in this world to capture what she wants to convey. The only thing she can do is cry.

Gilbert pulls away, reaching for her phone - he swears when he turns it over and the screen is smashed beyond repair. She doesn't think she's ever heard Gilbert swear before. It's odd to hear it now. In any other circumstance she would laugh.

She can't laugh.

Anne wants to be dead.

She must say that out loud, because Gilbert freezes and then turns to look at her with wide horrified eyes. "You don't mean that." He says, but she doesn't register it. She's still reeling at the fact that the English language is still something she can use, right now. Anne doesn't think anything should work right now. Not now that-

"Anne, is this about Matthew?"

Just like that, another wave of horror and guilt and grief overwhelms her, and Anne screams into her hands, suddenly able to move again, suddenly able to lean forward and wail into her palms, into her skin, rocking into Gilbert's firm body, his arms wrapping around her shoulders like it's the only thing he can think of to do. Surely the rest of their class can hear her, if Gilbert heard her. Gilbert was closest to the door, though, and it's a big lecture hall. Who knows if they'd even care?

"I'm going to go get our bags, and then I'm going to drive you to the hospital, okay?" His arms are firm around her shoulders. He's so warm. If Anne died right here, right now, she really wouldn't have a problem with it. Dying in Gilbert Blythe's arms would be one of the best deaths she could imagine. "Anne? I need you to nod if that's okay."

Anne reluctantly pulls away from him, still shuddering with sobs. Was that okay? _Yes._ Marilla needs her. She needs to be with her, she needs to be there, to say goodbye, to pray for him in the place where he died, to see him one last time, before-

Anne gets unsteadily to her feet, and Gilbert follows her up, all hands, on her waist, up her arms, steadying her, cupping her cheek, watching her with uncertain eyes and a mouth partly open. He was always quite pretty, wasn't he?

"Stay right here." He says, and rushes away, where he held her going cold.

Anne doesn't know whether she's sobbing anymore. She can't be. She needs to be strong, for Marilla. She spent so much time being that fragile little girl, and right now, Marilla needs her to be strong, and she needs Anne to be there for when she breaks down.

Anne stares down at her hands. They're still a bit bruised. She didn't know before now that hands could bruise, but they can, and hers did. Her wrists too. They're like storm clouds over her pale, freckled skin. She wonders if Gilbert noticed. She wonders why she'd think that.

He arrives back with both their messenger bags over his shoulder, and an arm already extended for her to take, to collapse into the cavity of his chest and be held there for as long as she needs. It's a kindness she can't afford, right now. She takes his hand though, lets him lead her out to the parking lot, to his rust bucket of a car, and clips her seatbelt on when he reminds her to.

They drive in silence. His radio is broken. She remembers Josie saying something about it when he bought it, about how the radio doesn't work, and there's no way to connect her phone to it, either, so they just drive in silence.

Gilbert isn't seeing Josie anymore, though. Anne thinks it would be very like Gilbert to get it fixed now that he isn't seeing Josie anymore.

Anne stares out the windshield, suddenly run out of emotion and tears. Gilbert doesn't comment on it. She thinks he may be speeding, but why would he do that for her?

In any case, Anne is almost surprised when Gilbert parks the car and she realises they're at the hospital. She springs to action, undoing her seatbelt and rushing towards the dorks, no thought as to whether Gilbert will follow or not.

She pants to the receptionist that her mother is waiting for her, one Marilla Cuthbert, even though she's only ever called Marilla "mother" a few times, and mostly jokingly. In the eyes of the law, she is her mother, and therefore how Anne will refer to her on official business.

The receptionist lets her through, and Anne makes her way up the stairs and into the ward where Matthew was being cared for. She sees Marilla, slumped in a plastic chair in the hallway, hair undone, face in her hands, shoulders shaking. It's not the crying that stops Anne in her tracks. No, she's seen Marilla cry before, as shocking as it was to see. It's the hair. Marilla is a very composed woman. She hates having her hair undone.

Nevertheless, Anne continues on, skidding to a stop by Marilla, gripping her hands, and dropping to her knees on the cold linoleum floor.

"Is it true?" She gasps, and stares up into Marilla's bereft eyes. It's all the answer she needs. She begins to cry once more. "Oh, _god."_

Anne buries her face in Marilla’s skirt and wails.

Matthew is dead.

~

How long it takes her to cry herself into a state of numb calmness, Anne doesn't know. All that she knows is that eventually a doctor comes over to ask them if they'd like to say goodbye and she has to get up, and when she gets up, there are no tears that fall.

She sees him, still and pale, so unlike the Matthew she knew, and she kisses his forehead, squeezes his hand, whispers a prayer that she hopes is heard. It's all she can do. No tears fall. She's dry of them. Cried too long and too hard, already.

Back in the waiting room, she is alone. Marilla needs time to say goodbye on her own. Anne leans forward with her elbows on her knees. Her school bag is leaning against the legs of her chair. She wonders if Gilbert followed her in to leave it with her. That's awful sweet of him. She forgot she even owned a bag.

The thing is, she's seen a man die from a heart attack before. She's seen someone die, stood over him as the life left him, stared with wide eyes at the man who told them all that Mr Hammond wasn’t getting any lunch, didn't need any doctor, now. Matthew was different. She’s known Matthew for the better part of eight years, been the daughter to him he never had, loved him like the father she deserved to have.

She was there when it happened. Home for the weekend, chatting to him about classes. When he fell, she hadn't noticed at first, too caught up in her oh-so-important world of messy courses and loads of schoolwork. But then she turned to ask a question, and he was on the ground, clutching his left arm.

Anne knows the signs. She did a First Aid course right before graduating high school, she knows this shit. And yet, skidding down the hill to get to him, hauling him into her lap, openly crying, all of her training, every thought flew out of her head. All she knew was dread and fear and tears. Matthew had begged her not to cry, his eyes glassy, breathing unevenly.

It took so long for her to fucking realise he wasn't going to die right that minute, that if she called out to Marilla, they could have an ambulance there in fifteen minutes. So Anne had run screaming to Green Gables, and Marilla helped her carry Matthew up to the house, his weight a strain on her frail limbs. Anne isn't used to heavy lifting, either. Carrying him out of the field and up onto the porch of Green Gables left her with bruises on her hands and wrists.

Anne wonders if it's her fault. If maybe she'd been smarter and gone to Marilla right away he'd have pulled through. But there was nothing the doctors could do for him. She'd just leaned over him and cried. Matthew had always been kind to her, soft where Marilla was strict.

Now he’s dead, and she’s left alone with all her guilty thoughts.

She looks up when someone sits down next to each other, and finds Gilbert Blythe offering her half of a hospital vending machine chicken salad sandwich. Anne is so stunned to see him, so shocked at the obscure gesture that she takes the half he offers, and begins to eat without enthusiasm.

“How are you getting home?” He asks in a low tone. It's still too loud to her ears. Then again, the crunch of the lettuce in her sandwich is too loud to her ears, right now. It feels like the whole world should be still and silent in mourning. The fact that it continues to spin and continues to sound seems like sacrilege.

“You mean Green Gables?” Anne murmurs back, though she can't imagine going back to Green Gables, right now. If she goes back, all she'll see is the way Matthew lay on the porch, still and quiet, waiting in anxious anticipation for an ambulance. It'll be a miracle if she can ever step foot in that house again.

“I mean your apartment.” Gilbert replies, gently. “I know Diana’s out of town, right now, and Marilla’s in no state to drive.” He pauses, and takes a bite of his half of the sandwich. She wonders if he even had lunch today. It's late afternoon, by now, and she thinks she remembers him say something about skipping lunch to study when they walked into class. “How are you getting home?”

Anne swallows against the sour swelling of her throat. She doesn't need to cry right now, and she thinks it would hurt more than it would help. “The train, I think.” She replies. The sandwich doesn't taste like much. She's rather unenthused with it, to be honest. “I have my metro card in my wallet.”

“Like hell I’m gonna let you ride the train like this.” He says, sounding firm, and her mind alights with a spike of anger.

“You're not gonna ‘let me’ do _shit,_ Gilbert Blythe.” She snaps. He looks surprised, but also a little relieved. Anne wonders if he said that to get a rise out of her, because she was scared without her emotion. Knowing him, it doesn't sound far off.

“Can I drive you?” Gilbert asks, softly, taking her hand in his own. She doesn't think he's touched her this much since he pulled her out of the river the summer after senior graduation, right when the exam results came out, and they found out they were going to the same college. “Please? I need to know you'll get home safe.”

Anne considers. She has no reason not to trust Gilbert Blythe. He's never misled her before. He's never been anything but kind to her, if a bit flippant, some days. And Marilla would be relieved if she knew Anne was in good hands. It's for this reason that Anne reluctantly replies, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” She pretends not to see his small relieved smile.

When Marilla emerges, Anne hugs her and hands her a packet of tissues. She asks how Marilla’s getting home - Rachel’s already in her way, apparently - and then says Gilbert’s giving her a ride home.

Marilla nods. “He's a good young man.” Anne nearly rolls her eyes at this, but doesn't have the energy. “Text me when you get home so I don't worry.”

“Same to you.” Anne replies, kisses her cheek, and turns away.

Gilbert’s got her bag on his shoulder and his hand extended out to her. This time, she's too proud to take it.

~

When they arrive at her place, she lets Gilbert walk her up, lets him enter her house, and offers him some tea. Anne feels as though she's on autopilot, acting on instinct, when really she's in a whole other universe, mentally. She remembers to text Marilla, of course, with Gilbert’s phone, explaining about the incident with her own, and how she’ll get a new one, soon.

Gilbert stops her when she asks if he wants anything for dinner. “What do _you_ need?” He asks, quietly. Anne can't help but wonder if he ever spoke to Josie like this. Then again, Josie hasn't lost her father, or anyone really important to her, before, so what reason would he have for speaking to her this way? Anne feels a little special.

“I don't know,” she tells him, honestly. She can't be anything but honest with him. He knows her far too well for that. They've been competing against each other for seven years, and reluctant friends for almost all seven of those years, if she was even a tad dishonest, he'd know.

Gilbert nods in understanding - and of course he'd understand, he lost his mother, didn't he? - and then hesitantly opens his arms to her. “Is this okay?” He says, even as she moves in, already settled with her arms around his shoulders. “I feel like I've been touching you way too much, today, without you saying I needed to, directly.”

Anne doesn't bother answering. Gilbert’s rather reliable at reading her moods. Right now, she doesn't have an answer for him, and that's answer enough.

They stay like that for a long while. It's comfortable, despite their height difference, to be wrapped up in him, in his warmth and smell and hold, to be in the moment without forcing herself to be. She doesn't know how long they stay there, but he doesn't complain, and she has no reason to complain.

It's so much easier to forget about everything when Gilbert Blythe is holding her in the most tender way she's ever experienced in her life.

“Will you stay with me, tonight?” She whispers, eventually. Gilbert half pulls away, and she mourns the loss of the feeling of being cocooned in him. “Not like - I mean, I don't want to be alone.”

His expression says he understands, but is surprised at her request. He knows just as well as she does that she knows her own mind. He won't refuse when she asks. He's reliable like that, always has been. Gilbert Blythe is really bad at telling people _no,_ and Anne Shirley has always been privy to exploiting that fact.

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” He asks, slowly.

Anne considers. She knows she wants him here. She thinks if she wakes up and he's not she'll just be forced into thinking about it all, and she doesn't want to. She needs him there. She wants him and his warmth with her.

“Can you sleep in my bed?” Anne replies, and wonders if it's awfully manipulative of her to know how she feels about him, and still coax him into her bed with this wonderful excuse.

But Gilbert agrees without fanfare.

They buy take out and eat it in front of awful reality TV, and Gilbert talks through most of it anyway, effectively keeping her mind off of everything. Anne knows she needs to mourn, but she doesn't want to, right now.

Then they brush their teeth - Diana keeps a few spares underneath the sink for visitors, because she has a lot more company than she'd like to admit to Anne, and she thinks Anne doesn't know about - and get changed for bed, which really means for Gilbert taking off his pants and shoes and climbing into the side of the bed that isn't obviously Anne’s.

Anne does not think about his state of undress when she climbs into her side and turns her back on him in the dark. She's definitely seen him in less, before, but of course that was different. That was at a swimming pool, or at his house, or running through the garden sprinkler in the summer, in their underwear. That was when he shucked off his clothes to dive into the river and stop her from drowning. Anne shouldn't be thinking of Gilbert like that, right now, especially when if she asked he'd do anything for her, right now.

She would be an awful person to take advantage of that.

Still, she rolls over, and he's a hair's breadth away from her, staring at her in the dark. Gilbert doesn't looks surprised, he doesn't scramble back. He holds his breath, waits for her to say something. “Will you hold me?” Anne asks him, and her voice is barely a voice at all. The question rides out into the spoken world on a breath and she waits for him to register it.

Gilbert doesn't respond, he just puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his chest. Her hand immediately spreads out on his chest, over the place where his heart beats, and she presses her cheek to the warm place right next to it, so glad to have a thrumming warm body to tangle her legs with and drift off with. Gilbert’s other hand rests on her hip, two fingers pressing to her skin where her pyjama top rides up and bares it.

Anne falls asleep in his arms. It may be the emotional exhaustion, or maybe it's his presence, but it's the best sleep she's had in ages.

~

When she wakes, she doesn't want to move. She doesn't want to be awake. Part of her doesn't even want to be alive, but for now she shoves that part all the way to the back of her brain. She tries to go back to sleep; it doesn't work.

Anne is awake, and Anne is in Gilbert Blythe’s arms, and it's both the worst and the best thing that's ever happened to her. The best because she's wanted this for god knows how long. The worst because look what it took for it to happen.

Maybe the staccato of her breathing changes drastically enough, or maybe it's the flutter of her eyelashes, but Gilbert knows she's awake. She looks up at him, wondering if sneaking out of bed is an option, but then she meets his eyes, and knows there no way to sneak out. She isn't sure she wants to, anyway, especially not when he's looking at her like that, through sleepy hooded eyes, red mouth slightly parted. God, he's pretty.

Early morning light drifts through the curtains, and bathes them both in gold. He looks quite stunning, his pale skin dyed tan, his eyes shining, his hair light and reflecting the sun's rays like water. She could kiss him for how he stays with her when he could pull away. She wants to kiss him, aches to kiss him, longs to kiss him so much that when she whispers, “Do you want me to kiss you?” and he nods back, slowly, still looking half asleep, she nearly jumps for joy.

The first meeting of their lips is excruciatingly marvellous. She immediately wants more, and surges forward, knowing Gilbert is just as enthusiastic by the way he reaches up to grip her, to pull her closer. Their legs tangle even further, even as they struggle to make sense of their limbs and their touches and their bodies.

Anne wants all of Gilbert, all to herself, right now. She wants to look at him, tangled in her sheets, no material to hide him, to look at him and know that he wants her the way she wants him. It's not even about jealousy, like it used to be, it's not raw desire. It's years of feelings pushed aside, it's the sudden realisation of regret when she saw him together with Josie, it's the way he looks at her when she pulls away to look at him in the most close up away imaginable.

He's even more gorgeous, this close. Makes sense. Gilbert seems to make it his mission to infuriate her in any way he can. Anne imagines she must look even plainer up close.

And yet, when they are apart, his hands go roaming over every inch of skin her body has to give him, like he's revered, like he's been given a gift, like she's everything he's always wanted and more.

Anne shivers at his touch. She can't get enough of him. Anne moves her hands from where they're cupping his cheeks and scraping through his curls to the hem of her sleep shirt, going to lift it over her head. But his hand stops her, quickly followed by his voice,

“Wait, Anne.”

She does as she's told. She's rather good at that. She stares at him, wondering why he'd stop. He was just as enraptured with her as she was with him.

“What is it?” She asks, earnestly. Whatever it is, she'll do anything to fix it so she can kiss him again. He has a very nice neck, it looks very kissable. She wonders if Josie ever took the time to kiss his neck.

Gilbert looks apologetic to even say it, but still, he continues, “We can't do this.”

“Why not?” Anne asks, narrowing her eyes. Her mind goes to the worst places. He’s still with Josie, or he'll be dead in three months, or he's in love with someone else.

“Because you're not in a good place.” He says, before she can convince herself he got married in Vegas to an Elvis impersonator. “I'd be taking advantage of you.”

“Taking advantage of me?” She repeats, incredulously.

“You're going through mourning.” Gilbert says, softly, almost like acknowledging it would summon ghosts into the room. Anne feels herself closing off just at the reminder. He must see it, because he reaches out and runs his hands up and down her arms in a soothing manner. “I'm willing to be here to comfort you, but I won't let you be self destructive.”

She scoffs, “This isn't _self destructive,_ Gilbert.”

“Really?” Now he's the one sounding incredulous.

“I could never kiss you as a reason to ruin myself.” Anne confirms, touching his cheek, gently, with her thumb, the rest of her hand cupping his jaw. She wants so badly to kiss him again, but she won't. “I've been dreaming of kissing you since I was thirteen.”

Gilbert furrows his brow in confusion. “I thought…”

“You thought since I was bereft the only reason I'd ever take an interest in you would be to take my mind off of everything.” Anne finishes, for him, feeling exasperated. She's tired to her bones, but being around him revitalises her.

“I suppose.” He agrees, and looks bewildered.

“I assure you that's not the case.” She says, and gives him a small smile.

Gilbert protests, once more, when she moves closer to him, again, “But, Anne…”

“Gilbert?” Anne replies, in kind, and then sobers. “If you don't want me to kiss you, I won't, but-”

“Anne,” when did she stop hating the way he said her name? “I know now that you're fine, but I can't help but feel like we’re moving a little fast.”

“So you _don't_ want to just forget this happened?” She asks him.

Gilbert bites his lip. Anne forces herself to look away. “Can we wait until you're in a better headspace to even consider something going on between us?” Her gaze snaps up to his at these words. Gilbert scrambles to continue, “Believe me, I'm a willing participant, but I can't, in good conscience, let you make this decision, right now.”

Anne waits a few breaths, holding his gaze, before softly responding, “Okay.”

“Anne…” he breathes, reaching up to stroke some of her hair away from her eyes.

“Gilbert.” She doesn't want any more of his words. She leans in and hugs him, her arms around his neck, and feels him sigh in relief, hugging her back. Her eyes drift closed. She feels tired again. Anne supposes Gilbert is probably the only person she's ever met who would stop her like that, care enough to make her think it through.

He's right. She's not thinking straight, just thinking about keeping her mind off the difficult things. He wants to be there for her, but not there to help her lose herself. She should kiss him for all the ways he cares.

~

Gilbert leaves later in the morning, and Diana arrives back at lunch time, ready to console Anne. What she finds, instead, is a numbly calm Anne who tows Diana along to Green Gables for funeral planning, being a stoic daughter for Marilla to lean on.

Matthew’s funeral is a small affair.

She's quiet and somber during the funeral service, and holds Marilla’s hand tight as they lower his coffin into its plot of land in the cemetery not far from Green Gables. His parents are buried only a few rows over. Anne thinks he’d find comfort in that.

She sees Gilbert in the procession, and he passes her on his way out of the cemetery, words of condolence to her and Marilla, a soft touch to Anne’s inner elbow, and a well-meaning, sympathetic look in his eyes. Diana raises her eyebrows at that, but says nothing.

Later that night, after Marilla’s gone to bed, and Anne has finished showering, Diana lets herself into Anne’s bedroom, a question in her eyes. All Anne wants to do is sleep, but she knows Diana better than anyone and knows Diana is brimming with questions.

“We kissed.” Anne says, without prompting, once the door has closed.

Diana all but squeals, a hand over her mouth. She bounds onto Anne’s bed the way she used to when they were fourteen and a little tipsy on stolen wine from Marilla’s pantry. “No way, really? When?”

At this, Anne’s playful mood sours a touch. “After I got the news about Matthew. He drove me to the hospital, and then to our apartment, and he stayed the night, and when we woke up we kissed.”

“Gosh.” Diana says, eyes shining with mischief the way they used to when they'd gossip about the girls in school. “You know he's head over heels for you, right?”

 _“You_ all knew that well before _I_ did.” Anne points out, and rolls her eyes. “None of you said anything about it for the longest time, because he was with Josie.”

“What a cow,” Diana comments, darkly, and it's all Anne can do not to giggle. Diana doesn't usually insult other people, being brought up to be the most polite girl this side of Charlottetown, so when she does Anne delights in her attitude rubbing off on her best friend. “You know, we all thought they'd get married.”

“That includes present company.” Anne informs her. “I thought for sure Josie would talk him into it.”

“He only ever had eyes for you.” She replies, softly, and there's something in Diana’s eyes that says she almost resents Anne for the fact, but it's gone too quickly for Anne to be sure. “And, anyway, what's going on? Are you going to see each other again? Was there anything more than kissing?”

It feels so good to just be talking about this. Every so often she can just drift into being herself again, not worrying about Green Gables and Matthew and Marilla. “No, he stopped it before we could go any further than some light touching. He said he wanted me to make that choice when I was in the right headspace.”

“Wow, what a gentleman.” Diana says, rolling her eyes.

Anne sighs, “Can't say he was _wrong_ in assuming I'd still be into him later.”

“Are you gonna see him again?” This feels the kind of conversation that they'd have at fourteen, not twenty.

“So long as he's still interested in me. I mean, come on, Diana, he's more than pretty.” That fact hasn't left her head since the first kiss they shared. It haunts her. “He could have anyone he wants.”

“And he wants you.” Diana sing-songs. Anne wants to shove her.

“What a fucking trainwreck.” Anne moans, massaging her temples. She’s had a crying headache since the day after she got the news, and it doesn't go away, no matter how many painkillers she takes and no matter how much water she drinks.

“Don't say that.” Diana says, shoving Anne by the shoulder and nearly pushing he roof the bed.

Anne looks up at Diana with a searching gaze. “Do _you_ like him?”

“Nah.” Diana dismisses it, anyway, despite the way she hesitates before saying it. It says it all, really. “Anyway, I have way too many plans to get hung up on _some guy_ \- no offence.”

“None taken.” Anne replies, hands up in surrender as she climbs back onto her bed.

There's a pause in the conversation, Diana sobers, bumps their shoulders together. That's right, they're twenty years old and today was the day she buried her adoptive father. Diana puts a hand on Anne’s, splayed out on the quilt between them. “Do you want me to sleep in here?” She asks, softly.

Anne’s glad for a friend like Diana who can basically read her mind. “Yeah. I'd rather not be alone, right now.”

Diana turns off the light and they climb into bed, Diana’s chest to her back. “I'm gonna stick around until next week and then I'm going back to school.” She whispers into the darkness, right by Anne’s ear.

“Me too.” Anne replies, tightening her hold on the hand Diana has draped over her waist.

Diana shuffles, and her next whisper is coloured with doubt, “Are you sure?”

“Fake it ‘til I make it, dear Diana.”

~

She does more crying in that week than possibly in all her life. Mourning is much harder than she ever imagined, and much less romantic than expected. She and Marilla bring new flowers to Matthew’s grave the day after the funeral, and the day after that.

Marilla can't bear to go back, after that, so Anne goes by herself for the rest of the week, and spends more and more time talking to his headstone as the week moves on. Anne comes to terms with not laying blame on herself. Really, the doctors had said, after his death, there was nothing to be done, and they had done everything they could with what they had.

Anne doesn't see Gilbert that whole week, and receives no messages from him on her new phone. She doesn't think too long about that.

Marilla assures Anne that she’ll hold up just fine, at the end of the week, and Anne hugs her hard, before hopping into Diana’s car and driving back to their apartment.

Anne goes to class, but she doesn't like spending time at home. Diana’s too sympathetic and sad for her to go home. Anne doesn't want to think about anything. She goes to bars more often than she used to, and drinks while she studies with headphones on, sat at the far end of the bar. If anyone approaches her, she just waits until they give up trying to get a conversation out of her.

She avoids Gilbert in class, even when he reaches out for her when she passes his seat in the lecture hall. She's not quite sure why she does it. He wanted to wait until she was in a good place, but the problem is that she hasn't been in a good place since before Matthew collapsed in the field, except for when she woke up in Gilbert’s arms.

Maybe he takes it personally and retaliates in kind, because they've always been good at exacting revenge against each other. Maybe he's just tired of waiting for her to be okay, again. Maybe he's just trying to get her attention, or maybe it's none of those things, and actually a fourth option that she hasn't even considered.

But a few weeks after she comes back to school, she sees him talking to Josie Pye, again, and she sees Josie reach out to touch his shoulder in that awful tender way they used to touch each other back in high school. Anne takes this at face value. It's clear just how much Gilbert’s prepared to put up with, and for how long.

Anne borrows Diana’s car for a night and drives back up to Avonlea, and spends half the night sitting in front of Matthew’s grave, silently, headphones on, crying. Then she sleeps in the backseat of the car, drunk on white wine out of the cellar from Green Gables that's been in Diana’s car since they graduated, a gift from Marilla that Diana never drank because she doesn't like white wine, but is too polite to give away.

She wakes up to around thirteen hundred texts and missed calls. First from Diana, asking when she's coming home and then around two am freaking out about Anne not being home yet or responding to her. Then it's Marilla asking where she is, demanding Anne respond, threatening to call the police. There's a few missed calls from Rachel Lynde, and a few from Ruby and Jane.

And then there's a missed call from Gilbert and a text that simply reads _please don't be dead._

She's hungover when she drives to Green Gables, but as soon as Marilla sees her from where she had been snoozing on their porch swing, the hangover departs and leaves her only with simple aching loneliness.

Marilla doesn't even yell at her about scaring Diana and herself, just holds her while she cries about Matthew and Gilbert and everything that seems to be falling apart in her life. She stays at Green Gables for a while after that, putting a hold on her studies.

Gilbert doesn't text her again. There's a short voicemail from his missed call that she can't make herself listen to. She makes herself useful by tending to some of Matthew’s chores, and helping Marilla clean out his room and put the things they plan to keep in boxes in the attic. She takes the rest in Marilla’s car to Goodwill, and pretends it doesn't hurt to be getting rid of his stuff, like this.

Anne knows that if they didn't do that, they'd just let his room become a dusty museum, depicting a life interrupted, the kind of museum you can't stand to be in for too long. Anne can't stand the thought of it.

~

Marilla’s out getting groceries when there’s a knock at her door.

It can’t be Diana; Diana’s still kind of pissed at her for getting drunk and sleeping in her car and not even apologising when Ruby drove her up to collect it.

Despite this, as Anne opens the door, she’s still expecting Diana on the other side, and is shocked to instead find Gilbert. So surprised that she almost immediately slams it shut in his face.

She doesn’t though. She stands there, staring up at him. He’s nearly two heads taller than her, and it’s always infuriated her. Now she so wishes she was taller so she could stare him down from a better vantage point.

Anne had done that when he came and asked her to prom from the doorway where Matthew stopped him and she’d been on the landing of the staircase, glaring at him. She’d said no. She’d also promised not to tell anyone, and he went with Josie instead, who bragged about him like he was an accessory.

“What are you doing here?” Anne demands, confused. “It’s Wednesday, you have class today.”

 _“You_ have class today.” Gilbert replies, immediately, as if on impulse. Makes sense; they used to argue often enough for that to matter.

 _“I’m_ on mandatory sick leave. _I’m_ seeing a therapist.” Anne tightens her hand where it’s closed on the door handle. _“I’m_ not doing _anything.”_

“Anne-“ Gilbert stops her from closing the door, and then immediately looks shocked with himself, allowing Anne the advantage to close the door, anyway.

She thinks perhaps that’s gotten rid of him, like an idiot, and then a few moments later, he knocks softly. “Anne? I just came to see how you were.”

Anne sighs. If she responds he will have won. But if she doesn’t, who knows how long he’ll wait outside for her? He doesn’t seem the type - but then again, they never do until they pull a move like that.

“Okay, I’m going to drive back to town.” Gilbert is apparently full of surprises. “I’m not going to force your hand if you don’t want to speak with me.”

She hears his receding footsteps and flings open the door, hoping to catch him off guard. “Are you back with Josie?”

Gilbert turns, halfway down the porch steps, and gives her an aghast look. _“Back with Josie?”_ He echoes, looking incredibly confused. “What on _earth_ gave you that impression?”

She folds her arms over her chest in defence. “I saw you talking to her.” She replies, already feeling stupid for the assumption.

“That’s something friends do, Anne. Talk to each other.” He says, sarcastically, rolling his eyes and they're suddenly eighteen again, and he's dragged her from the unforgiving currents of the river. She refuses to thank him. Gilbert shrugs off the sarcasm, wincing. “And anyway, I haven’t spoken to Josie in weeks. The last time we spoke she invited me to a party. Is that why…” Now, he stops, looking at her with wide eyes. They're eyes that see deep into her soul, eyes that she can't hide from. He's already figured it out - Anne knew he would, he's not stupid. “Is that why you stopped talking to me? Because you thought I was back with Josie?”

Anne says nothing. She feels more embarrassed than she ever has in her life.

He takes her silence as confirmation, turning fully to face her, still standing on the bottom step. He's so far out of her reach. “Anne, no one can hold a candle to you.” Gilbert says, sounding pained, like he can't imagine how she'd think otherwise.

She scoffs, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s _true,_ Anne.” He insists, and Anne tries to slow her breathing, because all of this is making her head spin. He bites his lip, looking at her, earnestly, and she can't stand that look on his face, so she turns away from him. “The way I feel about you...you’re _not_ just-“

“Gilbert-“ She says, and he races up the porch steps, catching her wrist in his hand, gently, tugging her into his embrace.

Anne stares up at him, surprised. He’s close enough that he could kiss her, but he doesn’t. He’s so close she can barely focus on any part of his face.

“Please, Anne,” He whispers, and she can feel his breath puffing out against her chin. It smells like peppermint gum. “Don’t shut me out, again.”

And, really, how could she ever?

This kiss is more intense than the ones they shared before, full of intensity, full of longing. Where the morning in Anne’s bed had been soft and slow and domestic, _this_ is all new and hard and fast. She just wants more and more of him.

Surely he can't think she's okay, now. Surely he can't think she's in her right mind. Maybe he just wants her anyway, and hopes that she wants him, too, and not just as a coping mechanism. He's got his heart on his sleeve and he's praying she'll be kind. How can she even think of letting him down?

Anne shuts the front door and tugs him further into the house until they crash into the kitchen, unceremoniously. Thank god Marilla keeps a clean kitchen.

“You said you wanted to wait,” Anne pants after he's hoisted her up onto the kitchen counter, by her waist, the buttons that do up his shirt coming undone between her nimble fingers.

“Didn't you listen to the voicemail I left you?” Gilbert replies, and shudders a little when she bites down on the skin of his jaw.

“No?” Anne says, and pulls away, pushing his button-up off his shoulders. Fuck, he's gorgeous. “That was _weeks_ ago.”

“I said I'd thought about it, and I was wrong. You obviously needed someone by your side, and I wanted to be that person, if you'd have me.” Gilbert takes her hand in his, where she’d been reaching down to unbuckle his belt, and stops her, gently. “If waiting was driving you away, I didn't want to do it anymore, Anne. We can work through this at whatever speed you want.”

What on earth has she done to deserve him? “Good thing I want you, right now.” Anne tells him, in a tone just as soft as his, and pulls her hand from his, leaning in to kiss him, again.

~

Marilla’s in the kitchen when Anne stumbles downstairs the next morning. She almost turns around and walks back to her room when she sees her, but Marilla catches her eye before she can, and Anne knows she wants to talk, so she ventures into the kitchen, deliberately not looking at the slightly askew wooden cutting board on the bench.

“So,” Marilla begins, as Anne turns on the coffee machine, and Anne freezes. “Gilbert Blythe stayed over last night.”

It's not a question. Anne knows she's in for it.

“Yes.” She responds, simply, afraid of where this line of conversation will lead.

“And the couch was unused, as well.”

“Yes.” Anne takes a deep breath and turns around, ready to face whatever disappointment or reprimanding Marilla has in store for her. Instead, Anne is greeted by a Marilla smiling, slyly.

She doesn't say anything more, however, and lets Anne be. Anne’s glad. She doesn't think she could make it through a conversation with Marilla about where exactly Gilbert Blythe slept, and just how much sleeping he did.

The truth is, they spent a lot of time talking. Anne’s always know that Gilbert is her intellectual equal, but in conversation with him, swathed in sheets, eating two minute noodles, is not something she expected to enjoy. He's smart, and he's funny, which she knew, but he also has opinions and ideals that align with hers, and dreams of the furtive that aren't out of reach, but aren't exactly ordinary either.

Anne never even thought about getting to know him more than she already knew. Turns out, knowing more about Gilbert Blythe than before has just made her even more smitten with him than before.

If he tugged her out of a river now, she would thank him.

He's still asleep when she gets back upstairs, and she almost rethinks waking him up. But then his coffee would go cold, and Anne is not the type to let coffee go cold. She nudges his shoulder as she climbs into bed beside him. “Hey.”

He blinks awake, looking a bit unimpressed with the whole situation, but then registers the mug she's holding out to him, and his autopilot brain must realise it's coffee because he sits up and takes it from her hands, cupping it with both of his and inhaling, eyes closing.

Anne nods to herself, content, and partakes in her own mug, scrolling through Twitter on her phone in her other hand.

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, becoming revitalised as they become more awake. Anne pretends not to be glancing at Gilbert every so often, and Gilbert does the same. When he finishes hi coffee, he puts the mug on the windowsill and leans back, eyes closing.

“Hey,” she nudges him again, clicking her phone off. “Don't go back to sleep, you need to be going to school, soon. I know you have class in an hour and a half.”

He opens his eyes and gapes, jokingly at her, arms still folded behind his head. “Oh my god, are you kicking me out, Anne Shirley Cuthbert?” Gilbert asks her, sounding mockingly aghast.

“You bet your ass I'm kicking you out, but it's for the good of your education.” She informs him, setting her own nearly-empty mug down on the bedside table and throwing back the covers, in her side. She'll save him his modesty, for the moment. He still winces at the cold air that rushes in under the covers. “I won't let it suffer any more in my name. Far too tragic.”

“You used to be a big fan of tragedy.” He sniffs.

 _“I am half sick of shadows;_ I've had my fair share, lately.” Anne informs him, and then backtracks, very quickly, watching his expression freeze.

“Ah,” Gilbert says.

“Sorry,” she says, wincing.

“No, it's…” he runs a hand through his hair, sitting up, and giving her an unsure look. “You're going to be okay, though, when I leave? You looked pretty…you didn't seem okay when I arrived yesterday.”

“Yeah, I-” Anne cuts herself off, wanting to lean in and kiss him, reassure him that his presence has somehow done wonders for her. She kisses him, softly, quick, anyway, and looks away before she can register the look on his face. “I'm going to be good, just working through some stuff. But you need to be getting to school, so get dressed, Gilbert Blythe.”

“You're not my mother,” he reminds her, even as he climbs out of bed.

“No, I'm not.” Anne agrees, heading to the door, so he can retain some modesty that she really can't give him, considering their activities the night before. She pauses at the door. “What am I, though, to you?”

There's the zip of his fly and she deems it safe to turn around. Good, still as gorgeous as ever. Gilbert has a considering look on his face. “What would you like to be?” He asks, instead of answering.

“I'd hope something more than a friend, at this point.” Anne admits, as stupid as it sounds. The way she's been treating him recently is not how one treats friends.

“Alright, something more than a friend.” He nods to himself, giving his shirt a sniff before deeming it acceptable and slipping it over his head. “Should I attempt to sneak out?”

“Too late, Marilla’s already aware of your presence. Best be greeting her on your way out.”

“I suppose so.” Once he's dressed, they wander down the stairs together, and Gilbert chats, briefly, with Marilla about nothing, and is sent away with a jar of raspberry jam. Anne walks him out to his car, still in her pyjamas and a dressing gown.

“Drive safe.” She tells him, and then, feeling that awfully domestic fluttering in her chests again, leans up on her tiptoes to kiss him. He kisses back, with fervour, and Anne already misses him, long before the kiss ends.

And then she watches from the driveway as his car pulls away and travels down the road, and around the corner, out of sight.

Marilla’s on the porch, waiting for her, when Anne treks back up to the house. “I'll assume we’ll be seeing more of him.” She says, loftily.

“Yes.” Anne replies, unusually wordless for the moment. It's like he took her train of thought with him and left her with a quiet, content mind.

Marilla nods to herself and says, all business like, “I'm glad he makes you happy.”

She's not wrong. “He does.” Anne agrees, and seats herself on their porch swing. She didn't know there was a good way to be speechless. She didn't know that Gilbert Blythe had the power to do that to her.

She didn't know he could make her happy. Anne closes her eyes, and smiles a bit.

  
**fin.**

**Author's Note:**

> Hah, so, I hope you enjoyed this. If you did, please leave me kudos and then head on down to the comments section to tell me all about it. Hmu on Tumblr for notifications when I post fic and also funny stuff. Thanks for reading.


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